


A night of wonders

by Victorthyreas



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24526822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorthyreas/pseuds/Victorthyreas
Summary: Jaskier found himself in the woods and has no memory of what brought him there until he's forced to remember.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, guys, this one will be quite longer and slightly angsty.  
> You've been warned.

It wasn't unusual for Jaskier to get into trouble, it was unusual when he didn't and Geralt had learned that the hard way. 

All Geralt wanted when the first morning light announced the beggining of a new day, breaking through the trees around him, dancing on his lashes and teasing his eyelids, was for this day to not be a complete disaster.

As he slowly blinked the sleep away, turning his head around to give time to his pupils to adjust to the brightness surrounding him, his gaze stumbled upon an empty bed roll beside him.

Fuck.

He watched in panic as his wish for an uneventfull day rolled down a cliff, leaving behind a trace of the destructive rute leading to its demise.

_"Where the fuck did the bard go?"_ he raised his head along with an eyebrow to where Roach was munching on some grass not paying attention to the Witcher's growls and mutterings. He couldn't smell the bard and that was a very bad sign. 

  
  
  
  


The sun was nowhere to be seen, hiding behind the thick foliage of the trees above him. A drum could be heard from the deepest corners of his mind. An uneven rhythm, silencing every other sound, his heartbeat, loud, defeaning, sending immense waves of blood across his body. He was running, running, running. Was he though? He could've sworn that he was still, unmoving and the forest was passing by backwards, shadows could only be seen, shadows of trees, he thought, or was it something else? He couldn't figure it out, it was fast, way too fast. How long have he been wandering through the forest, he didn't know and there was no way to find out. 

_"Well, that's just odd"_ he gasped. He had a very special relationship with time, of course he had. He had learned to control time as a result of years of performing in taverns and inns and in the most luxurious halls of the Continent. Jaskier was a fucking professional. He knew how long it would take for a not so enthusiastic audience to finally accept his invitation for high quality entertainment and a cheerful company for the rest of the night. He knew how to use his longer songs in his favour, masterfully delaying the notes to keep his audience's curiosity in high levels. He knew how to use every second of his performance, never resting, never stopping, always twisting around tables, jumping on chairs, kicking his feet on the floor, feeling, laughing, singing, being.

Had he - the skillful master of the hours, minutes and seconds - lost track of time? Well, he had lost his way back so, he guessed, time was not as important as it might seemed at that point.

Finally his legs betrayed him interrupting his body's rebellion. He found himself in the centre of a clearing, the sunlight couldn't reach the forest ground. He must have reached the very heart of the forest, then, he assumed.

_"Geralt won't be very happy when I return"_ talking wasn't the wisest thing one could do while gasping for air. He frowned and looked around, taking in the scene in front of him, catching his breath, hands on knees, supporting his weight _"if I ever return, that is"._

Suddenly, like he has just woken up from deep sleep, he felt it, as his body slowly catching up with his mind. Violence.

He had nightmares before. He could remember waking up gasping for air, soaked in sweat, heart racing inside his ribcage. But it was nothing like that terrible feeling that was dwelling in his heart, as he realized it wasn't a nightmare. It was real. Very much real.

And reality wasn't very gentle with him at that moment. His feet aching as if a rock had crashed them breaking his bones. His weight collapsed on the ground, knees hitting the forest muddy bed, hands burried in soaked dirt, fists clenched in a ball, smashing rotten leaves and twigs with curled fingers. His head felt sore and numb, as if he was standing next to a beating drum for the last seven hours. He tried to take a breath but found out it was nearly impossible to draw a full breath as his lungs were burning and the flames were reaching his throat, licking the back of his mouth. His chest felt smashed and ribs cracked as he was panting rapidly in an unsteady pace. The air around him was stale and dry making his breathing even harder.

He had been running all night, he figured, and the forest floor hasn't been very kind to his feet. His knees were not in a better state either. He had lost count of how many times he had stumbled over a rock or a root or a piece of stray wood. But every time he had found himself on the ground, body almost fully buried in mud, there he had felt it, the urge to keep going, deeper in the forest, deeper in the unknown, very far from what seemed to be the safest place for him, on Geralt's side.

What madness had led him there? He was striving to control his breathing, to calm his racing mind. He focused on his surroundings, a tree, a bush, mud, more mud, another tree, more trees, too many trees, no sight of any path he could follow to go back to the camp, back to Geralt.

Geralt. _Fuck._ The Witcher would certainly not be willing to play his games. He would leave him. Yes, he would leave him behind if he was nowhere to be seen. Jaskier was not expecting for Geralt to come look for him. The man was already busy with the killing monsters business, protecting villagers, making sure the paths are safe for traveling. Being a hero was a hard job, after all. No time for bards (who would only slow him down giving the current state that particular bard was in).

Jaskier couldn't decide which thought was more terrifying. Him being alone in the forest, having not the slightest idea how the fuck he got there at the first place, or Geralt not caring enough to look for him, leaving him there to die alone cold and in so much pain? 

Not that it would be Geralt's fault if Jaskier was to die there. It wouldn't be Jaskier's fault either. He couldn't remember waking up in the middle of the night and running off in the woods. Maybe it was the exhaustion that was blurring every memory in his mind. Or maybe it wasn't. Nothing made sense. 

  


  
Geralt was starting to worry. Jaskier would never wander off in the woods by himself. The bard was many things but stupid was not one of them. 

He kneeled in front of Jaskier's bedroll, a blanket was pushed away, landing messily on a patch of grass beside it. He lifted it up and placing it under his nose, looking for any sign of discomfort. If Jaskier was forced to leave his bed he should be able to smell it. He would smell the bard's fear. He prayed to anyone who could listen for it to not be the case.

Fear didn't look good on Jaskier. His bard was a bearer of light, colors and music, bringing joy to every heart, never asking anything in return. His face was shining like a beacon, lighting the path for lost travelers to find their way home. Fear would only smear that face with an ugly look, a look Geralt hated so much he had sworn never to let it appear on his bard's lovely face.

The blanket had been proven to be not as helpful as he would like it to be. It smelled like Jaskier had smelled before they got to bed that night. Orange and a hint of burning wood and Jaskier's own scent. No sign of anyhting unusual.

Geralt's heart grew heavy with anticipation in his chest when he spotted a line of traces on the ground. _"There you are"_ he whispered surprised by the hope lingering in his voice. A finger gently caressed the edges of what seemed to be a trace of a foot. And another, and another..Why was Jaskier barefoot? 

Hope was a candle burning faintly, sending flickering light in the corners of his heart but it was blown out violently as he realized that the bard was running. He followed the traces that led him far from their camp and deep in the forest. 

  
Jaskier closed his eyes and forced his brain to work properly this time. Scenes like the flash of a lightning passed before him, illuminating the darkness behind his eyelids. It felt like his memory was catching up and through the glimpses of what he realized it was the last night's events, he could distinguish figures running beside him. Large silhouettes were spreading what appears to be their arms and he could hear screams coming from deep below the surface of the earth. Jaskier's eyes flew wide open and he blinked two, three, four times before he placed his hands on his knees to balance his weight that felt unbearable for his aching legs.

He stood up, trembling and looked around. No large figures, no spreading arms, no unworldly screams. He was alone and alone he had to face the aftermath of what had happened last night. 

There were some possible explanations. The first one made more sense to Jaskier: the forest was cursed. He had travelled with the Witcher for too long to know best that sometimes things are not what they seem to be and the most innocent looking child can be a death trap.   
The second was simple: he was fucking drunk. Although, he had no memory of drinking the night before. Even if he wanted to drink, the nearest tavern was days away. Therefore, the second explanation was quickly out of the short list. 

Geralt had warned him countless times about the dangers lurking in the woods. They could be found in the form of a sorceress or a malevolent mage. They could be monsters or evil spirits. Whatever they were, they were surely unpredictable and the wisest thing to do is simply stay away. 

Jaskier, however, was not away, nothing of the sort. He was exactly when he shouldn't be and the worst part was that his own legs had brought him there. 

The screams were still ringing in his ears as he leaned on the nearest trunk with his back against the hard surface. It wasn't providing him much comfort but it was better than the cold ground, he decided. His head wasn't spinning anymore and his breathing wasn't out of control. He could manage, he thought. 

Fate, _however_ , had other plans.

At first he heard a rustling and cracking noises coming from behind him. Something (or someone) was dragging its weight on the ground. He slowly turned his head and came face to face with a human like creature, with pitch-black skin and fiery red eyes. Its enlongated arms were spreading revealing dark claws that looked like they could slash through hundreds of layers of hard stone. Strands of hair were hanging from its skull, sticking on the skin, not enough to cover it whole and its mouth was too big for the size of its head looking like it could swallow him up and spare him from the extra pain and suffering. Jaskier's full attention was focused upon a display of many series of rotting teeth. _Great._ He blinked as he stepped back facing the creature that was now extending its claws, only to be greeted by a growl from behind. Oh, there were two. How marvellous!

_"The more the merrier_ " he let out a miserable whimper mixed with a nervous laugh. He were to die there like an animal, he was sure of it, crushed between two of the ugliest monsters he had ever layed his eyes upon. 

The creature behind him growled again, its voice felt like daggers on his back. The air around him turned rancid and a veil of fog was rising under his feet. An overwhelming urge to run as far as he could was thriving inside his chest but his legs were pinned to the ground. That wasn't good.

Immediately, he looked up to where the sky was supposed to be (he could be standing upside down -- nothing made sense anyway) and shut his eyes closed. The creatures were surely going to attack him any time soon and it would all be finally over. He would fight back but his body wasn't feeling like his own anymore. 

" _Damn it! Why had they not attacked yet?"_ he thought and he could hear their snarls filling the air. They were waiting for something. Jaskier had no idea what it was but he was sure it was going to be bad. 

He wanted to scream but he couldn't find his voice. He wanted to run but his legs were as heavy as rocks, burried deep in the ground. He wanted to breathe but all he could let out was frantic gasp noises. He wanted to use his senses but the blood pounding in his ears was too loud, violently overpowering all other sounds; his hands were numb and sore, useless; the foul smell on the air around him covering every other smell. His body was useless.

_"I hope Geralt is safe_ " he thought and let his mind sink in the comfort given to him momentarily.  
At least the Witcher was not there. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting quite darker (ish?) than expected ...

Geralt's heart was racing in an infernal turmoil as he was following the traces of the bard's feet on the ground. Millions of thoughts were haunting him, digging their claws deep in his mind, sucking out everything good that once was inhabiting there.   
  
  


The bard has always been a pain to live with, sometimes a pebble in his boots he couldn't wait to get rid of, sometimes he wished he had never met him, especially when Jaskier wouldn't shut up for a damn second, or when he would insist to accompany the Witcher in some of his most dangerous hunts, always longing for the thrill of the adventure, always demanding to sit in the front line for a better view while Geralt saves the day once again. While the younger man was a string of thorns, tightened around his chest, slashing his skin open with every breath he took, Geralt couldn't free himself from his grasp, he needed it to be whole. The strings were holding him together and if they were to be loosened, he would found himself scattered all over.   
  
  


Geralt had to find his bard, It sounded pretty simple. Well, it wasn't. He carefully examined the ground. It was clear to him that Jaskier had been running and fast. It was clear that he hadn't been running alone.  
  
  


Not far from the line of tracks Jaskier left behind was another line of larger tracks that couldn't be of a human or any other animal or monster known to the Witcher.  
  
  


Geralt had learned to suppress his emotions to be effective during his battles with the world's pest. He had taught himself to ignore the thin thread wrapped around his heart, threatening to tighten its hold hard enough to cut his heart in half. That thin thread was what was left of his human soul, once young and full of hope.  
  
  


Things had changed for the Witcher when a certain bard stormed into his life, like a menacing wave, overloaded with excitement, hunger for love, crushing him on the wall he himself had built up to keep the unwanted out and away. But Jaskier was impossible to be kept away. He clung to Geralt like he was the log and Jaskier was the drowning man in the river and the Witcher found himself unwilling of letting him go and be dragged away by the current, far from his grasp.   
  
  


But now Jaskier was far from Geralt's reach.  
  
  


His mind fogged up with anger and fear. It was impossible to focus on the sounds, the scents, anything that would be useful to find Jaskier, to get him back to safety. The bard had made the thread around the Witcher's heart strong and thick again. Waves of emotions were striking him whenever Jaskier was singing or laughing, when he was performing in the middle of a crowded tavern, sharing mischievous grins with the audience, or when he was quietly strumming the chords of his lute near the fire. Emotions that Geralt thought were safely locked away in a chest somewhere deep in some dark lake. Emotions that were now washing all over him, emerging from their watery grave. Emotions he couldn't handle, he couldn't remember how to handle them. It was too much, too painful and it was too sweet, too good, and oh, how he needed every bit of it. How he longed to bathe in a pool of feelings and Jaskier could give him exactly that.   
  
  


And he'd be damned if he let that go.  
  
  
He wasn't ready to let go.  
  


He would never let go.  
  
  
  


  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
  
  
  


The creatures were staying silent, staring at him with eyes that could easily be mistaken for the gates of the World the Dead, growling and scratching the dirt with their spear-like claws. The sound echoed in his ears, loud and terrible, his heartbeat even louder, sending waves of life through his body.   
  
  
_"Oh, well, I'm not sure if it's a good thing to be reminded that I'm in fact still alive"_ he heard his voice escaping his lips like a rabbit trying to escape from a flooding hole. Breathless. Aching. The pain was running wild inside his skin, clutching his bones and veins, turning to dust everything on its path.   
  
  


The growling was playing an eerie tune, filling the air with a haunted harmony. Jaskier was standing in the middle of a nightmare. Or was he a part of it? It appears that the beasts were almost unbothered by his existence. That thought sprinkled a little hope in Jaskier's heart and it shifted uneasy like a burning tree after a long-waited rain. If only he could convince his body to cooperate, he could leave this place forever. His body however, like it had grown a mind of its own, a second mind, one that was out of Jaskier's control, would not move. Would not do anything Jaskier commanded.   
  
  


And the growling kept playing the same tune. And for a moment the wind blew freezing daggers into his bones, the sun pierced his skin with burning spears, the trees around him bent down and naked finger-like branches reached out for him. A ghastly scream was coming from every corner of the forest, no, more than one. They were coming from the very depths of the earth beneath his numb feet, they were coming from the dark sky above his aching head, they were coming from the inside of his burning lungs. It wasn't his voice, it wasn't him screaming. He could distinguish a chanting voice, whispering in his ears words he had never heard before, words coming from the past, meanings he couldn't understand but it was memory. Memory of things he never experienced before, memory of places he'd never been before.   
  
  


Jaskier blinked and his eyelids felt heavy. If that was a nightmare maybe it was time for him to finally wake up.   
  
  


He had enough of this, he decided.  
  
  


He blinked again. The scene remained the same.  
  


The scene changed.  
  
  


_The earth begun to move violently and with a deafening crack it was ripped swallowing him whole while he felt like he was being dragged in the neverending depths of the World by invisible claws carving horrors on his skin , he was falling deeper and deeper and deeper and the light of the day was now too far away and too close, blinding him as he was spit out from the very ends of the earth back to the heavens; his body felt like breaking in half trapped in a forceful wave, out of breath, he tried to get back to the surface but every time he was reaching the foam, catching glimpse of the blue sky and the serenity above, the wave was tumbling him over, sending him back to the dark bottom violently, his bare skin scratched by the sand --  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_

\-- and all went still.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes in "protection mode"  
> Geralt has FEELINGS (Witcher's don't have emotions?? Not in my fic)  
> Geralt says "f u c k "

Geralt was now running as he knew that every minute passing could be proven a fatal waste of time. Lines of glistening sweat were trailing down his temple, his eyebrows cutting off their downward path, but it wasn't enough to keep them out of his eyes, blurring his sight. Geralt wiped the sweat away with the back of his hand but his vision still remained bleary. His head already has begun to spin hours ago, ever since he realized Jaskier was missing and panic blended with desperation had taken over, but now it was becoming extremely hard to focus on the barely visible path unfolding below his feet. He felt a metallic bubble rising in his stomach, swelling rapidly, threatening to explode right inside him, releasing deadly poisonous gas. It was crushing his lungs against his ribs and the heat inside his chest became unbearable. He felt anxiety taking over and It wasn't just sweat that was blurring his vision. Now tears were filling up his eyes as he kept running deep in the woods. Jaskier's traces beside him, the only steady rock to step on - yet slippery, the only thread to hang upon - yet frail and constantly slipping out of his grasp. 

"Fuck," he breathed, gritting his teeth as he shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to shut his emotions away, to bury them in the deepest corners of his mind. He didn't have time to waste being weak - not when Jaskier was in danger - no time to deal with feelings now "fuck, fuck,

_FOCUS!_ "

The sudden yell disturbed a crow that flew swiftly over his head and croaked a clear warning, forcing the Witcher to raise his head instantly. He let his eyes follow the bird as it was flying in circles above him, flapping the wings furiously like a black velvet piece of cloth, yielded to the wind's wrath. More crows flew around him and the air turned thick with tension and threat.

Geralt then heard it: a growling sound coming from not too far away, ringing in his ears. He would never understand what kind of insanity took charge of his brain and body but he found himself hurrying desperately over to where the sound came from, stumbling over his own feet, kicking the ground beneath him, a silver sword flashing menancingly in his hand. The growl grew louder and louder, sending vibrations through the trees around him and below the surface of the earth.

There were moments in a Witcher's life where he had to decide whether he had witness all that was disturbing and unsettling or whether it was just another ordinary day in a Witcher's life. That moment was clearly one of the disturbing ones. Geralt found himself in a clearing and the source of the growling had finally revealed itself to him in all its horrifying glory. A large dark silhouette was standing in front of him, limbs threateningly long, staring blankly with glowing eyes at a limp figure lying on the ground. Another one was not too far away, both were standing still as if they were guarding the body lying in the middle of the clearing. 

  
_The air bended and fell solid on the ground with a thud._

Anger, malice and his own burning hot blood flood the Witcher's heart and his body reacted on instinct. Adrenaline high-kicked him in the chest. He lashed out and let muscle memory - _and his blade_ \- make quick work of the monsters, feeling grateful that they were affected by the silver. They looked nothing like he had ever seen before, so he considered it pure luck. Once the blade was pierced through their terrifying forms, they vanished in a twisting thick black smoke with a shriek that sucked everything good and beautiful around and inside him in a spiralling fury. Once he was sure that his enemy was gone, Geralt dropped the sword on the moist soil and rushed to where Jaskier's senseless and spiritless body was lying, unmoving.

He kneeled beside the younger man and for a moment he hesitated. Jaskier's face was pale as if all blood has been sucked out of him, leaving him nothing but an empty vessel. There were no wounds on his body but he looked like he was engaged in a fight with an unearthly opponent. A subtle frown was decorating his forehead between his shut eyes and Geralt fought the urge to slid his fingers on Jaskier's temple and soothe the worry away. He looked asleep but not in peace. The Witcher felt the bubble swelling in his throat once again, almost sucking all air out of his lungs, leaving him heavy as metal. What if he was too late? His heart began to race behind his ribcage. He would have disappointed his companion and _fuck_ , that wasn't a fitting end for Jaskier. In fact, _no end would be fitting for Jaskier._ Geralt managed to draw a deep breath, before he reached out to touch the bard's pulse point on his throat. He finally exhaled shakily when he felt the faint throb beneath his fingers. Geralt's heart leaped in his chest, and sweet hope surged in it and replaced bitter desperation, while the latter flew away in the form of warm tears running down his cheeks.

Against all odds, Jaskier was - _still_ \- alive. 

His motionless form was illuminated by the faint moonlight, creeping in from behind the dense foliage of the trees around them. Light softly shimmering above his resting eyelids and Geralt caught himself observing how the shadows of the dancing leaves were coloring Jaskier's face. And Geralt was with him now, he could keep him safe, he would. But in that moment, while gazing at his pale features, holding his limp hands in his own, clutching them, he felt utterly helpless, utterly powerless. 

  
Jaskier was alive, _yes, Geralt wasn't late.  
_

_  
  
_But could that be enough?  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> Sorry it was yet another small chapter. I just can't do better than this, since I REALLY MUST finish a project in one sitting. Anyway!
> 
> Thank you for being supportive, leaving kudos and comments :) Much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *They can't keep their hands off each other  
> *Seriously.  
> *Geralt is worried  
> *Like, too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some dialogue !  
> I hope you enjoy the new chapter.

The wind began to blow silently and performed a playful dance on Jaskier's forehead seducing a few culred locks resting on the side of the bard's face. The Witcher quietly watched the little flirting game and couldn't resist the urge to remove a strand that fell on Jaskier's eyes, isolating itself, too shy to join the dance.   
  


Geralt had to take his bard back to the safety of their camp. That place was hostile and unwelcoming, nothing good was growing, nothing but dead roots and sharp rocks beneath his feet and withered foliage above his head. However, that wasn't the worst thing; the smell was unbearable. The rotting stench of illness and decay was throwing its greasy webs around him, taking his breath away, almost suffocating him.

It was probably a fitting place for a Witcher, they way Geralt saw it, the way most people saw it, but not a good place for a bard. Definitely not a good place for Jaskier.

The Witcher quickly curled his right arm on the back of Jaskier's neck, the other slid behind the man's knees and his lightweighted form was lifted up effortlessly. He started walking the unsteady path back to their camp, minding his every step. He didn't want to disturb Jaskier's sleep. He thought of all the burdens they had made him carry through the years, some heavier than others. Unwanted names, false rumors, "Butcher of Blaviken", monster, threat, terror, every child's nightmare, every man's worst enemy. All felt like a heavy stone hanging from his chest, dragging him in the deepest pits of the abyss that was unfolding below his feet. But Jaskier had invaded his life and his heart; the stone has been replaced by a warm body curled up against his chest. The bard could never be a heavy burden to the Witcher. 

The gentle touch didn't go unnoticed. Jaskier's eyeballs shifted beneath their heavy blankets and Geralt captured his own breath, forcing it back in the cage, built of bones inside his chest. He stopped walking and kneeled slowly, still carrying the bard safe in his arms. He sat on his knees and placed Jaskier's waking body on his lap, supporting his back with a strong arm. Eyes locked on the bard's face, noticing how the muscles on his tense face started twitching uncomfortably in pain. 

Geralt felt a light squeeze on his upper arm and instinctively covered the bard's hand with his own. Jaskier tightened his grip on Geralt's arm as he tried to open his eyes and allowed them to adapt to the swift change of light. From darkness to light, back to darkness, back to light. 

"Geralt?"

His voice, shaky, fighting to escape the knot growing in his throat, threatening to throttle him with metal claws. Geralt noticed how impossibly soft and weak it sounded. As if the faint wind whispered secrets to the evergreen grass, brushing their tongues lightly as it passed above their heads. 

"Yes," he reassured him, helping him to sit straight, "it's - I'm here - " he breathed ghostly and his own voice was now shaking. He placed a trembling hand on the back of Jaskier's head, in an attempt to comfort the younger man. Soon he realized it was him who was in grave need of comfort as he felt his breath escaping his throat in slaughtered waves. It was him who couldn't live a day without feeling Jaskier's presence next to him. He caressed the bard's hair and Jaskier shivered at the touch.

Geralt kept brushing gently the nape of Jaskier's neck, as if touching the man was the elixir of life, something he couldn't get enough of. The bard looked around him. His eyes stumbled upon the Witcher's face and he blinked; and blinked again; and some more. His face was blank, muscles unmoving. He was undoubtedly - uncomfortably for Geralt - confused. 

"- It's alright, you're alright" the Witcher whispered in the other man's hair and nodded to himself.

Geralt struggled to believe his own words but for the sake of all those times Jaskier had been there for him, bandaging his wounds, humming cheerful tunes to help him sleep, performing for longer than his body could handle to make enough money so the Witcher could have a nice bath after a demanding hunt, Geralt decided it wasn't a bad thing to lie for once. Though Witchers never lied, they had no reason to do so, some of them couldn't lie even if they wanted to. Geralt however had one very good reason that night. 

"Geralt!" repeated Jaskier, this time he was looking at the Witcher and his eyes were telling a long story, one Geralt couldn't read just yet. The bard made himself sit comfortably on the Witcher's lap and tilted his head slightly to the side, never taking his eyes of the older man.

"Am I -," his voice lowered to a ragged whisper "am I dead?"

"What? No," Geralt's voice was painted with unmistakable worry "no, of course not!"

"Well, I do believe you're lying to me, dear" Jaskier laughed, or at least he tried to. His eyes fell on the Witcher's hand which was now resting on his arm, holding him tight, knuckles all white. Wait, Geralt is holding him ? "I'm definitely dead and there is proof"

"You're definitely alive and I'm going to smack your head if you keep this up"

"Oi, is this how you treat a dead man? Wait - ," 

  
Jaskier sunk lower in Geralt's lap, the warm sensation was comforting, too good and too warm to be a part of the world of the Dead.

" - if I'm dead and you're here, that means you're dead too"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Jaskier!" Geralt's tone was surprisingly soft, but he didn't know how long he could stay this way. Jaskier was clearly disoriented and they both had to figure this shit out.

"For the last time" he continued "no one died, is dead or dying" 

"Ah, alright " Jaskier wasn't convinced, not yet, even though he could feel his joints and muscles aching. Pain was a good sign. Pain was part of life. Proof that one is living. "Would you be so kind as to tell me what happened then?" he asked innocently and his eyes grew bright as he was slowly becoming aware of the Witcher's body all over his. A wave of electricity raced across his skin and, oh, that wasn't much of a help.

"I was hoping you would answer that" .

Geralt released Jaskier's body from his grasp and proceed to stand on his feet, extending an arm for the bard to take. Jaskier was not willing to abandon his safe place on the Witcher's lap, so he - naturally - protested against it but it only lasted for a few moments, a new record. Eventually he gladly took Geralt's hand and found himself on the Witcher's height in seconds. 

He immediately regretted it.

His expression darkened as he saw the trees beside them growing thorns that curled between each other, forming an everending prison and the ground started to quake. He soon realized that - this time - the horrors were not real. They were nothing but his own eyes fighting a swirling dizziness and his own legs trembling, unwilling to keep his weight, and he was relieved that Geralt was quick to catch him right on time before he fell on the ground. 

"Are you okay?" Geralt's grip was tight around his arms and Jaskier clung onto him as he was still trying to find his balance.  
"Uhm, no?" the bard slid his hand on the Witcher's chest, pulling his medallion in a desperate effort to keep his balance as he felt his legs shaking violently for the second time that evening. Geralt noticed the man's discomfort and cupped Jaskier's hand in his own. The medallion was hanging silent beneath their sweaty palms. Geralt's free arm slipped around Jaskier's waist and pulled him closer against his body. For safety. What else?

"What's wrong, Jaskier? he asked.

"I felt a little faint" Jaskier replied and he dampened his dry lips with his tongue, closing his eyes as a light breeze flew above their heads. 

"I can see that" Geralt's voice was low and in the emptiness surrounding them it sounded perfectly clear and Jaskier felt the vibrations on his chest and against his skin. "It's not what I'm asking" the Witcher wondered if Jaskier minded that their bodies were too close but even if the bard did mind that, he never showed it. Geralt was grateful for it.  
"This" he continued and gestured at the air "Why are you even here? What brought you here? Why did you leave the camp in the middle of the night without even telling me first?"

"I -"

"Do you realize you could have gotten yourself killed?" Geralt felt the frustration and anger he was successfully holding back taking over him. His voice became raspy and hoarse and he sounded almost threatening. 

"Geralt, you - just hold on a se-"

"Do you even know what dangers lurk in these woods? You do know, you saw them, didn't you? Fuck, Jaskier, if only you knew ..." He paused, his voice softened and so did his eyes. He suddenly felt struck with how much Jaskier's safety meant to him, with how much Jaskier meant to him. He wanted to let the other man know how worried he was but the words wouldn't leave his lips. Not that the bard didn't deserve to know but Geralt was too scared to even admit this to himself. He felt guilt rising up inside him. Guilt for dragging Jaskier along with him ten years ago and putting his life in danger every day since. 

Geralt sighed and lowered his head, gazing at their hands resting on his chest.

_(I'm glad I found you in time, I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you, I need to keep you safe but you always slip away, you go your own way and I'm left behind, gasping for air, it's hard to breathe when you're not around, you take my air with you, I'm helpless, please, just please, stay safe for me, when I can't be there for you)_

He pulled him closer, if that was physically possible.

"I'm just glad you're safe" was all he managed to say out loud. 

"That's -" Jaskier fought an exasperated smile but it triumpantly appeared on his face "so sweet of you! I'm relieved to know that you do in fact give a monkey's about it"

Geralt felt a spike stuck right through his heart. Was his bard an idiot? They had been travelling together for ten years and Geralt had made the man's safety his priority. It was not intented at first, it had became a need later. No, Jaskier was definitely not some kind of fool, incapable of protecting himself but he was the type of fool who will throw themselves in danger just for the thrill of it or for saving Geralt's ass even though the Witcher could easily handle the situation himself, or for any other stupid reason, really. Once, Geralt witnessed his bard challenging a 7ft mountain of a man to a fist fight to impress the innkeeper's daughter. Needless to say, the mountain - man - returned home with a smashed nose that day while Jaskier, faster as he was, gained only a few bruises on his knuckles. The girl was impressed. So was Geralt. The Witcher had to keep an eye on the bard, to avoid such situations as the one they were currently into and, so far he was being successful. So far he thought that all of his efforts were appreciated. It appears that he has being wrong all along but that couldn't be Jaskier's fault, of course it couldn't. The bard was simply clueless and that was what plunged the spike deeper in the Witcher's heart and he watched powerless as it bled out all of his doubts and agonies. 

"Let's not jump to conclusions" he teased the man and forced a smile. The smooth tone in his voice sounded amused but his eyes told a different story. He knew that and so he turned his head, allowing his hair to fell on his face in hopes that it will hide the hurt look in his eyes.

"Well, you asked why I left our camp, hm?" Jaskier breathed slowly and Geralt felt the hot waves of the bard's breath brushing his collarbone lightly. "I'll tell what I know. I'll tell you what I saw. I don't know what happened, for I cannot explain it.All I know for sure is that something has changed" he paused and smiled softly, raising his head up to face the Witcher "Oh, you'd be surprised, dear, to find out that there are things they never taught you in that fancy Witcher school of yours" .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> We're slowly getting there, guys !!!


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